


On the Edge of Forever

by Eressë (eresse21)



Series: Greenleaf and Imladris [18]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 05:50:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eresse21/pseuds/Eress%C3%AB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The moment has come for Elrond’s sons to make their choice either to follow their father’s path or partake of the Gift of Men. Eighteenth story in a series chronicling the millennia-spanning relationship of Legolas and Elrohir from the moment they meet beneath the eaves of Greenwood the Great to the years of the War of the Ring and beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _The characters belong to the Wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offence is intended or profit made in my use of them._

Minas Tirith, Midsummer’s Day T.A. 3019  
The king and queen were now properly wedded, feted and, presumably, despite the early hour, bedded. Aragorn had been, to put it politely, all too eager to end his part in the wedding feast and bear his bride away to the fastness of their quarters. He was fortunate his Elven brothers had not chosen that moment to display their mischievous streak of long ago. The most they had done was delay the couple with all manner of ridiculous speeches and drawn out toasts until the king had looked fit to be tied.

Only then had they relented and allowed their foster-brother to finally seek relief. Which he did with almost indecent haste, his and Arwen’s departure accompanied by the gentle laughter of the fair folk of Rivendell and the Golden Wood which in turn amazed the people of Gondor. It seemed there was more to their new king than they’d ever imagined if such elegant creatures as Elves could treat him so familiarly. 

Now it was late afternoon. Even with the royal couple finally ensconced in their apartments, folk still lingered in the Citadel, particularly by the green lawn on the prow-shaped battlement, which rose seven levels above the lowermost roads of the City of the Kings. It had been a glorious day, the promise of peace and prosperity in the very air and the people of the Southern Kingdom in the almost forgotten mood for celebration.

But even as those privileged to remain in the vicinity of the White Tower voiced their joy in song and merry talk, their eyes were drawn again and yet again to the far end of the battlement. Drawn to the white-clad figure that stood as still as a young beech, its fair countenance turned to the vista of the Pelennor and fallen Osgiliath in the distance.

Elrohir, Prince of Imladris, son of Elrond of Rivendell, Elvenlord, foster-brother to Elessar, warrior Elf, one of the legendary Peredhil – he was known by these titles and many more. When last had such singular comeliness and veiled power graced Minas Tirith as now when the king’s Elven kith and kin resided within the city walls? But the twin brethren of the hidden vale stood out for reasons other than their elven luminosity.

They were different, these sons of Elrond. They were as beauteous as Elves yet there was an earthy quality to that beauty that made it seem that they may yet be within reach of mere mortals. But after all, did not the king win their sister’s heart and hand? Elladan and Elrohir were also formidable in form and wisdom; their more solid yet graceful frames lending them a sensuality not readily apparent in full-blooded Elves, their youthful, compelling eyes brimming disconcertingly with age-old knowledge.

Was it any wonder that many a woman turned their eyes to the stately Elf-lord with more than mere admiration? Who could blame the men, even the most wizened and knowing, for staring at him in curiosity and awe?

He was still clothed in the raiment worn for his sister’s nuptials. The snowy garb contrasted with his midnight locks, the _mithril_ circlet upon his brow marking him as one of royal lineage even if his father had declined the High-kingship over the Noldor of Middle-earth. In the slowly dimming rays of the summer sun, he glowed with such unearthly light it quite took the breath of any who beheld him

But Elrohir was oblivious of the attention. His thoughts did not center on the beatific present but on the just concluded past and the volatile future.

Was it only days ago that they had faced near annihilation on the slag hills before the Black Gate? Bait to keep the Dark Lord’s eye fixed upon the remnants of Gondor’s waning might, away from the two indomitable souls who had scrabbled and struggled through the arid, festering plains of Gorgoroth. 

Brutal, soul-rending, ultimately hopeless had been that last battle before the Morannon. He could still remember the fierce cries and agonized screams, the harsh clang of metal against metal, the fear-etched faces of young Men facing sure and torturous death. He could still smell the grime and gore and the acrid stench of a land long forsaken to wickedness. And the sight of those he held dear battling not only for their very lives but for the life of Middle-earth itself. 

When the end seemed at hand, when he saw that all their valor would not avail them, he had applied himself to a last task. To guard the lives of these dear ones, to keep them alive for as long as he could even if he should fall in their stead. 

It would all have been an exercise in futility had the aim been to defeat Sauron’s legions by force alone. Only the desperate hope that two worn-out Halflings would persevere and rid Middle-earth of the One Ring once and for all had held them steady in the face of certain ruin. 

But just when that hope seemed to fail them, Frodo and Sam, against unimaginable odds, had reached their goal and two little Hobbits proved their mettle and secured their places in legend. Middle-earth had emerged from the encroaching darkness into the clean, clear brilliance of a new day.

He glanced down at his formal clothing, brushed his fingers over his ceremonial _sigil_ , his dagger. For so long had he donned hardy mail and soldierly mantles, girded his deadly sword, borne his lethal knife, bow and quiver. It would feel strange to go for long periods on end without need for such martial accoutrements. 

Not that he believed that he would never don armor or wield weapons again. The peace they had achieved was by no means inviolable. Sauron was no longer but the evils he had brought forth on the heels of those of his master, Morgoth, still existed in the deeps and plains and peaks of Arda. Vengeful orcs, hostile realms, disgruntled allies – Aragorn had his work cut out for him. There would be true peace at last – Elrohir did not doubt his mortal brother’s strength and abilities – but they would have to labor long and hard to secure it.

At least, there was no more of the pervading sense of doom from broken Mordor that bent men’s wills and gouged out their courage ere battle had even been engaged. From hereon, whatever struggles took place, be they on the fields of battle or in the halls of negotiation, all would be on near equal footing. No longer would there be full-fledged sorcery or subtle enchantment to aid one side or the other.

Not even for the Men of the West. They would not have the aid of the Elves any longer. The time of the Firstborn was past. Many would soon depart these hither shores to seek the Undying Lands. His father would be amongst them as would many of the household of Rivendell. The Lady of Lórien, the White Rider, doubtless a goodly number of Galadhrim.

As for himself, he did not know. He did not wish to forsake Middle-earth just yet. Both land and love hearkened to him, begged him not to go. But to stay, he would have to make a sacrifice the repercussions of which were enough to boggle anyone’s mind. 

To bind himself for eternity to one who did not even know it... might not ever return it... and, worse, turn to another... 

He had thought to tell him at last in Rohan but an unforeseen circumstance had made him hold his tongue. Strangely, it had also given him hope bitter though the discovery had been. But he would have to bide his time before making any move. Again.

Elrohir shivered inwardly. Could he do it? Or might the peace of a mortal end be preferable to this – this tormented waiting. 

He turned his head as a hand lightly grasped his shoulder. He looked into the keen gaze of his grandsire. Celeborn, Lord of the once golden wood, now master of East Lórien, stood behind him. 

More eyes turned to that now radiance-filled corner of the battlement. It was a marvel to see the silver-haired Elf beside his sable-tressed grandson. Truly, Elessar’s marriage to the Lady of Rivendell had brought about wonders such as the folk of the city had not had the fortune to witness in ages.

“Your father desires to speak with you and Elladan,” Celeborn quietly said. “Your brother is already with him.” 

Elrohir nodded but made no motion to leave. Celeborn regarded him gravely and silently. At length, the Elf-knight looked at him once more and said, “I was pondering what would become of me.” 

Celeborn peered at him, unable to completely veil his concern. “And what did you discern, Elrohir?” he queried.

The twin sighed. “I do not wish to leave Middle-earth,” he said. “Yet I fear I will know more sorrow if I stay.” He heaved a pensive breath. “Though it will be no different were I to take ship with _Adar_. I see no light to look forward to.” 

A thrill of apprehension smote Celeborn as he studied his grandson. Elrohir’s uncertainty and desolation was so at odds with the hope and anticipation that pervaded the city. 

“Do you still recall what I told you in Lórien?” he gently asked.

“Aye, I recall it,” Elrohir replied. “Your counsel heartened me greatly.”

“My counsel has not changed, _gwanneth_. I still say the same to you. Time is on your side as it never was with your mortal kin. Do not despair now when a new age is upon us and with it mayhap renewed hope.”

He stayed by the Elf-knight’s side, ready to succor him if need be. He would not allow dark thoughts to take Elrohir and have the victory at the last.

“Grandfather? You came to know him in Lórien,” Elrohir murmured. “What do you think of him? Am I... am I a fool to love him so?”

Celeborn gazed into the distance a space before answering. “Galadriel and I spoke with him before the Company departed and had the chance to observe him as well,” he said at last. He looked at his younger grandson, a small smile hovering on his lips. “Nay, _gwanneth_ , you are no fool to love him. For all his flaws, he is a pure-heart, a loving soul, worthy of you and your devotion. Yet how I wish I could say otherwise that I may help you rid yourself of this passion for him.”

Elrohir bit his lip. “It would not make a difference were he worthy or not,” he whispered. “Only my choices would be affected but not my heart.”

Celeborn sighed and cupped his grandson’s cheek momentarily. “Come, do not keep your father waiting.”

Elrohir silently followed his grandsire back to the White Tower.

They had gathered in Elrond’s chamber in the residential pavilion of the tower – Elrond himself and Galadriel, Gandalf, Elladan and Legolas. Once Celeborn entered with Elrohir, the family circle was complete, with Gandalf and Legolas counted as kin through friendship if not by blood. 

Arwen was not present. Her fate was now sundered from theirs.

Elrond beckoned to his sons and they came to him where he sat between Galadriel and Celeborn upon a long couch by the hearth. They each laid a hand in their father’s warm grip and looked at him somberly.

“I have lost another who is beloved to me and with no hope of ever finding her again,” Elrond quietly said. “Yet in her joy I have found a measure of peace and courage.” He tightened his grip on the brethren’s hands. “I know not if that courage will last the night but while I still own it, I would face another grief if that is my fate. I would know your choice this day, my sons. Now, while I can still endure what you may decide.”

They stared at him in surprise, near identical eyes gleaming in the hush light of the chamber, one pair glinting with blue flame, the other glittering with argent fire. Then Elladan withdrew his hand, took Elrond’s between his palms and knelt before his sire.

“You know my heart, _Ada_ ”—Papa—he sweetly said. “It belongs to one of our kindred and I would join myself to her forevermore. I wish to stay on in Middle-earth until she is ready for the journey to Aman but I say to you this day, I will cleave to Elvenkind.” 

Elrond smiled broadly, happiness glowing in his dark grey eyes at his older son’s declaration. He could feel his law-parents’ relief and joy as well as they beamed at Elladan. But his felicity faded somewhat when he returned his regard to Elrohir.

The twilight eyes were undecided. There was no certitude of his younger son’s choice.

“Whatever you should choose, I will always love you, my Elf-knight,” Elrond softly said, the slightest tremor resounding in his voice. “But I cannot wait another day to know it. I do not think I will have the fortitude to bear it should you decide to follow your sister’s path.” 

Elrohir nodded in understanding. He glanced at Elladan then wordlessly moved away to think hard on this hardest of decisions. He settled himself in a corner of the chamber away from the others.

Elrond waited anxiously as his younger son struggled to come to a decision. He’d had little fear where Elladan was concerned. The older twin had the most compelling reason of all to choose immortality. The Lord of Rivendell thanked the fates once more for bringing his son and Thranduil’s only daughter together in love.

Nay, his worries lay solely with Elrohir. 

Elrond recalled the moment when he’d first discovered his younger son’s heartbreaking secret. Until then, he’d known of no attachment that would persuade the younger twin to follow his brother’s path save for his love for Elladan himself. But would that suffice? Elrond had sadly remembered how their twinship had not been enough to keep Elros by his side. His love for a mortal woman, she who became his Númenorean queen, had proved the stronger. Would history repeat itself? Would twin brothers be separated once more not only by distance but also by eternity itself?

It was then that he’d noticed how Elrohir had reacted to the announcement of Arwen and Aragorn’s troth. Envy had mingled with his son’s grief. Envy for his sister’s happiness in having found love. At first, Elrond had wondered if his son sought a love of his own. Yet something had told him this was not the case. And so he’d taken to watching the Elf-knight.

Soon after, Legolas had come to Rivendell for a summer’s visit. In that brief time, Elrond had at last perceived the truth. He saw it in Elrohir’s regard for the Mirkwood prince, hidden when he was in his friend’s presence but revealed once he thought himself unmarked. Elrond had discerned his abiding love and his centuries-long sorrow. 

'By Elbereth,' Elrond had thought in shock. 'I have been blind.'

He had been so immersed in the events that threatened Middle-earth and later distressed by his daughter’s growing love for his mortal foster son that he had failed to see that which was under his very nose. For how long had Elrohir loved with such passion and suffered for it? For Legolas seemed frustratingly unaware of the younger twin’s true feelings for him. ‘Elladan warned me so long ago but I did not realize it had finally come to pass,’ Elrond had berated himself. 

Suddenly, everything had become clear. Elrohir’s choice would hinge solely on his feelings for one person. Elrond had began to look at Legolas with different eyes, fatherly suspicion aroused however belated. Was the Elf-prince worth his son’s life, his very fate?

The revelation of the new condition pertaining to his children’s choice had been a shock to say the least. But after the initial grief, he had set aside his regrets regarding Arwen’s fate. Useless to cling to the ‘what ifs’ of her decision. It was done. There was no turning back for his daughter. But Elrohir was another matter.

That condition could be both boon and bane. It could encourage him to choose immortality if by it he could remain by his beloved’s side. But it could also spur him towards the road Elrond’s long-dead brother had trod. For it required a sacrifice of such magnitude as to make a lesser being than Elrohir cringe in despair. What if his son decided at the last that it was not worth it? That Legolas was not worth it? Would he not then choose the relatively quick solution of freedom in death? 

Elrond had voiced this concern often enough in the weeks before his sons rode to war. Elrohir, ever plainspoken in all things save with the one he loved, had assured him he would not choose rashly. He’d had to content himself with that and rely on Gandalf’s counsel to trust his son.

But now, with Elrohir’s decision nigh at hand, he could not still his paternal misgivings. Try as he might, he could not help casting an occasional resentful glance at the reason for his Elf-knight’s continuing misery. He felt Galadriel’s tempering hand on his arm, caught her cautioning gaze. Nodding, he sighed and schooled his treacherous desire to vent his spleen upon the Mirkwood prince. 

Meanwhile, Elladan went to his twin. He had no compunctions about persuading Elrohir to make the same choice as he. If he had to, he would channel all his strength into keeping his twin’s elven fire burning. It was not something he desired if in doing so it prevented him from giving wholly of himself to Nimeithel. But if it would keep Elrohir from either mortal oblivion or elven waning, he would do it. Now that they had come to the crossroads, he comprehended that he would do anything to secure their eternal twinship. 

Nimeithel would not resent sharing him with Elrohir. She had made that clear in the times they had come together down the centuries and in their correspondence. She knew and accepted what might have to be. It was he who had objected to such an arrangement. But she refused to withdraw her offer. She cherished Elrohir as heartily as she did Legolas and would not see him lost to Elfkind. It was no wonder Elladan loved her so. 

Now if only Elrohir would cooperate and accept their joint sacrifice. He sat by his brother and spoke pleadingly to him, reminding him of their bond. He winced inwardly when upon softly voicing his and Nimeithel’s loving offer, Elrohir flinched.

“Elladan, I cannot accept—”

“Do not refuse it—”

“‘Tis too much—”

“Yet not enough it would seem!”

Elladan grabbed his brother by the shoulders. He was not surprised that Elrohir resisted his suggestion. It was not in his twin’s nature to allow others to suffer for him.

“We do not wish to lose you, brother,” he urgently said. “None of us do. Please, accept our offer. Nimeithel and I will count it a small price to pay if by it we may keep you with us.” 

Legolas watched the brethren with mounting apprehension. Of the Elves present, he alone was not family. But he was as terrified of what Elrohir’s decision might be as the others. Mayhap even more so. 

For the memory of kinship would always keep the Elf-knight close to them even should fate itself part them evermore. But what did he have? Were Elrohir to pass away to where the spirits of Men abode, there would be nothing left of their long friendship. They did not share the same blood; they were not kin.

He groaned in frustration when Elrohir’s undecided countenance changed little even in the face of Elladan’s eloquence. He did not know what it was that Elladan had said to his brother; he only knew it seemed not enough to persuade Elrohir. If anything, the Elf-knight looked likely to refuse it. He glanced at the others. 

Gandalf would not interfere of course; it was not his place to do so. But what of the others? Surely they were loath to let Elrohir go. Yet they held back; said nothing. Legolas wondered if honor and nobility prevented them from forcing the younger twin into a decision of their liking. 

‘Well, confound honor and nobility!’ Legolas thought. What use was either if they should lose Elrohir for all eternity? His lips tightening with determination, he rose and approached the brethren.

Elrohir glanced up when the prince came to him then knelt before him as if in supplication. He noted Legolas’ bleak expression.

“What troubles you, Calenlass?” he asked.

“Your possible choice,” Legolas said earnestly, taking his hands in his. “Do you remember your promise to me? You said you would hearken to me first before choosing your course.”

Elrohir did not speak at once. Finally he nodded and said softly, “I could not possibly make this decision without considering your wishes.”

The prince gripped his friend’s hands tightly. “I bring no counsel to you. I have not the skill or knowledge. But what I can do, what I must do is ask you to cleave to Elvenkind. Do not forsake our friendship, Elrohir. Do not forsake me. A Valinorean eternity would be lonely without you, _mellon nîn_.”—my friend.

Elrohir stared at him. Long ago, the archer had pleaded thusly with him. He was doing so again with even more raw and fervent emotion than he had done then. Hundreds of years of the deepest of bonds had done their utmost on the Elf-prince.

Elrohir studied him then looked long at his brother. Elladan’s gaze remained openly imploring. The younger twin visibly shuddered. 

Behind them, Elrond tensed. Every muscle strained as he strove to master himself, to stifle the impulse to join them and add his own plea to theirs. But he knew better than to intrude now. Elrohir’s fate teetered on a precipice and one wrong word, one misguided move could prove lethal.

Galadriel took his clenched fist and clasped it, Celeborn gripped his shoulder. Strength and succor flowed along the tenuous lines of their connection. Elrond drew a deep breath, calmed down and waited. 

Legolas’s clear voice resounded once more in the near silence.

“Elrohir, I beg of you, choose our kindred. Please, do not leave me.”

*********************************  
Glossary:  
Adar – Father  
gwanneth – younger twin

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

“I will cleave to Elvenkind.” 

The whispered declaration was akin to an explosion in the rapt stillness. For a moment, none spoke. None could find the words.

Then Legolas unleashed a ringing, joyful cry that jolted everyone out of their dazes. He flung his arms around his friend, torn between laughter and tears. A second later, Elladan threw his arms about Elrohir and hugged him tight. He buried his face in his brother’s neck, shoulders heaving visibly. 

Elrohir let out a shaky breath. It was done. He could not turn back now. Their tender assault had been more than he could withstand. He could not deny Elladan’s wish, could not resist Legolas’s plea. Not together.

He looked up to see Elrond before him. He swallowed hard. Never had he seen his father so radiant with joy. Tears streaked down the Elvenlord’s cheeks and he did not trouble to still the tremors of relief that wracked his tall form. Elrohir gently freed himself from his brother and friend’s joint embrace and went into his father’s arms.

“Eru be praised,” Elrond murmured as he held his son snugly. 

He drew back and planted a tender kiss on Elrohir’s temple. Reaching out a hand to Elladan, he drew his older son into his arms as well and caught both twins to his heart.

He glanced over their shoulders at Legolas who looked on with a brilliant smile. Whatever the Mirkwood prince’s failings, he had played no small part in securing Elrohir’s decision. His desperate entreaty coupled with Elladan’s heartfelt pleas had won the future. Elrond owed him that much.

 _Thank you, ernil neth._ —young prince. 

Legolas started as the thought brushed his mind. He nodded at Elrond, his smile gentling.

oOoOoOo

They told Arwen when evening fell.

She took the news with remarkable composure though they could sense the sorrow that coursed through her. She did not begrudge her brothers their choice. But the surety of the eternal divergence of their paths naturally grieved her.

They assured her they would remain in Middle-earth until her passing. But they did not reveal to her the condition that allowed them to do so past their father’s departure. Elrond and his sons were in tacit agreement that she should be spared the knowledge of what could have changed her fate had she but known it long before Aragorn’s birth. And so they simply told her that they had been accorded the grace that they might keep her company until she and Aragorn left this world. 

“I am glad for you, my brothers,” she softly said. “But forgive me if I do not join you tonight. I cannot...” She bit her lip to still its quivering.

“We know, _muinthel_ ”—sister—Elladan whispered. “We understand.”

oOoOoOo

The brethren kept company with each other until late that night. Slipping into shimmering grey raiment in their shared chamber, they spoke softly of the future, pondered their chosen road.

“ _Gwaniuar_ , regarding your offer... I thank you for it but there is no need,” Elrohir suddenly said.

Elladan looked up warily. “Why do you refuse it?” he asked.

“You belong to Nimeithel. I will not have her share what should be wholly hers.”

“But you—”

“I will bind myself to him.”

Elladan gazed anxiously at his twin. “You told me he was worth it yet I sensed your doubts these past many days,” he said. “‘Tis why I made the offer.” 

“I know. And in truth, I did have doubts,” Elrohir admitted.

“What caused them?”

“Something I discovered in Rohan.”

Elladan peered at him frowningly. “Rohan?” he repeated. “What new trial is this, _gwanneth_?”

Elrohir hesitated then quietly told him. Elladan’s eyes widened in consternation.

“Are you certain of this?” he demanded.

“I know him well,” Elrohir softly said. “But do not let this disturb you further. I have found as much hope in this as I knew sorrow. I need only wait until the time is right.”

Elladan sighed. “Ai, is there no end to your travails?” he said dolorously. “Of all the Elves in Arda, I wish you had not chosen him.”

“Elladan—”

“You deem him worthy, but I cannot be so kind. Not when he causes you so much pain.”

“What he does is unwitting. He means me no harm and would denounce himself were he to know what he has wrought.”

Elladan shook his head. “Spoken with a lover’s forgiving heart,” he muttered. “You say it gave you hope. What hope is this?”

“That he may yet open his heart to me.”

The older twin pursed his lips then growled: “He had better! Else I swear he shall taste my steel!”

Elrohir laughed softly, touched by his brother’s protective ire. He diverted his attention to another matter. 

“Did my ears deceive me or did I overhear Grandmother and _Ada_ practically planning your nuptials this morn during the wedding feast?”

Elladan rolled his eyes. “You would think they would know better than to speak of such things before others who know nothing of my affairs!”

Elrohir chuckled. “They are only pleased that you have found your match, _gwaniuar_.”

“But they need not hurry me into wedded life!”

Legolas strolled into the chamber on the tail end of their conversation. He was in a sunny mood and looked amiably from one twin to the other. 

“What besets you, Elladan?” he inquired, noting the older twin’s rather flushed countenance.

Elrohir beamed welcomingly at him then glanced at his brother.

“He is imagining the delight of a certain Elf maid when she learns of our choice,” he smirked. “Mayhap another wedding shall be in the offing sooner than we expect.”

Elladan scowled at his twin. “Hush, brother, you will set Legolas upon me,” he said.

“Nay,” Legolas grinned. “If you are Nimeithel’s chosen one, who am I to gainsay her? I warrant you will make her a good husband and I doubt you will find her wanting as a wife.”

Elladan shook his head in exasperation. “First Grandmother and _Ada_ , now you two. Why is everyone trying to marry me off?” he groaned. 

“Because ‘tis the only way to rein in your uncultured ways,” Elrohir snickered.

“Uncultured—!” Elladan glared at his twin. “I will seek peace and quiet elsewhere,” he growled. “I would have some time to myself before we declare our intention. Without your annoying asides, _gwanneth_!” 

Stalking out with as much dignity as he could muster, Elladan exited the chamber. Legolas and Elrohir shared a merry laugh before the latter resumed fastening his tunic. He was startled when he felt Legolas drape his silvery grey mantle over his shoulders. An instant later, the archer pinned a clasp to the neck of the cloak, the rayed star of the Dúnedain.

“ _Hannon le, Calenlass_ ”—Thank you, Greenleaf—Elrohir smiled. 

“Nay, ‘tis I who should thank you,” the archer replied.

“For what?”

“For watching over me from the moment you arrived in Rohan.”

“I did nothing more than look out for a shield brother,” Elrohir said dismissively.

“Do not deny what you did for me,” Legolas chided him gently. “At Pelargir, on the Pelennor, even unto the very gate of Mordor; you were always there, guarding my back, keeping harm at bay.”

Elrohir let his breath out at the prince’s recitation of his deeds. Finally he said, “You are my best friend and heart’s brother, Legolas. That alone would earn you my warrior’s pledge of fellowship. But I also know you far more intimately than is deemed seemly for friends or brothers.” He hesitated momentarily before pressing on. “I did not expect it but, in the course of our couplings, it seems a bond formed between us though you do not feel it. It impels me to seek your well-being, to protect you if I may.”

Legolas stared at him then lowered his eyes guiltily. “I felt it, too,” he admitted, flinching at Elrohir’s surprised reaction. “But I did not heed it. I chose to protect Aragorn instead.” He lifted craven eyes. “I failed you,” he said shamefacedly.

“You did not fail me,” Elrohir objected. “You did right in protecting Estel. You had sworn yourself to the Company and that meant serving him to the best of your abilities. The fate of Middle-earth lay as much on his survival as it did on the Ring-bearer’s success. Frodo ensured the present; Estel, the future. Had I died on the Fields of the Pelennor or before the Black Gate, the tides of destiny would not have changed their course one way or the other. My life or death would not have mattered in the least.”

He had meant to be reassuring to the archer, to show him his actions had not been wrong. But his words triggered a sudden vision that filled Legolas with dread.

He saw the Elf-knight, cradled limply in his arms, his face ashen, his lips near blue and still, his lids lowered with awful finality. He drew in a shuddering breath, turned horrified eyes on his friend.

“Legolas, what ails you?” Elrohir exclaimed, reaching out a hand as the prince seemed to reel from some unseen blow.

“Would not have mattered?” Legolas gasped incredulously. “You belittle yourself, Elrohir!” He raised a shaking hand to his suddenly chilled temple. “Had you died on the battlefield due to my negligence of our oaths, I—”

Elrohir’s perplexed, wide-eyed reaction brought him up short. He struggled to regain his composure. Unbidden, his conversation with Gimli in Rohan came back to him. 

Swallowing hard, he said, "'Tis only now that I realize how much I have always relied on you, _gwador_. Had you died, I would have been bereft, set adrift and lost.” He took Elrohir’s hand and gripped it tightly. “You are my strength, Elrohir, my haven. I would not know what to do with myself should I ever lose you.” 

Elrohir stared at him, astonished by the fervor of his declaration. Something indefinable flickered in his eyes. 

“Let go of your fear, _ernilen_ ”—my prince—he said soothingly. “I am here, I am with you. And now that Elladan and I have made our choice, I will always be here for you. Always, Calenlass.” 

He smiled comfortingly at the still troubled archer. Gazing into the tender, steadfast grey pools, Legolas felt his spirit calm and his fear diminish.

“Then let us go and make certain that your choice is made true,” he softly urged.

Elrohir nodded, his smile still reaching out to his friend in affection and succor. Together, they left the chamber and went to join Elladan and the others.

oOoOoOo

Few mortal eyes marked the gathering of _Edhil_ at the foot of Mindolluin. When Arwen made her choice, it had been voiced in the bosom of her family alone for the consequences of her decision were so grievous to them that it did not bear being witnessed by others. But for the brethren, there would be no such secrecy. Their decision was cause for joy and celebration amongst the Firstborn and every Elf in Minas Tirith came forth for the occasion.

All garbed in grey, more elven than ever before, they could scarcely be discerned in the dark as they made their way to the appointed place. The few humans who did espy them found themselves uncertain if their eyes told them true. For why would anyone venture forth in the deeps of the night when all should be preparing for repose?

While all the other Elves gathered in a semi-circle behind them, the twins stepped into the space made for them before Gandalf. On either side of the Wizard stood Elrond and Galadriel. Directly to the brethren’s left Glorfindel and Erestor waited while to the twins’ right, Celeborn and Legolas held their ground. Behind them stood those of Elrond’s household who had come to Minas Tirith – Lindir, Almáriel and Gildor Inglorion.

Elladan and Elrohir understood the significance of Elrond, Gandalf and Galadriel standing three abreast before them. They were the Keepers of the Rings wrought by Celebrimbor. Few were aware that their father and grandmother had long guarded two of them. Even fewer knew that Mithrandir held the third. 

Silence descended on the gathering as Gandalf addressed the brothers.

“You must be certain of your decision for there will be no repenting of it once it is declared,” he told them. 

Elladan quickly glanced at his twin then looked to their father. Elrond was careful to keep his demeanor as still and impassive as possible before so many other Elves. Nevertheless, he could not completely conceal his anxiety that his younger son might yet change his mind at this last moment.

Elrohir turned his head to look at Legolas. Unlike the Lord of Rivendell, the prince of Mirkwood did not hide his thoughts or feelings. They were plainly visible on his face. His eyes pleaded for what he could not say out loud. 

Silently and irrevocably, a heart was pledged, a spirit bound. 

Elrohir drew in his breath and said, “I stand by my choice. I will cleave to Elvenkind.”

He did not miss the archer’s expression of intense relief. He smiled at his friend then turned to look at his twin. 

Elladan’s answering smile was touched by melancholy. He knew what Elrohir had done; saw the evidence in the Elf-knight’s eyes. He let love and comfort flow towards his brother as he said, “I choose as you do, _gwanunig nîn_. I, too, will be of the _Edhil_.”

There was a discernable sigh amongst the other Elves, not least from Elrond. Forgetful of his obligation to maintain a dignified mien, the Elvenlord was smiling unabashedly, his joy at gaining his sons for eternity getting the better of him.

Gandalf gestured to the brethren and gravely said: “As you have chosen so must you now declare it to the Valar.”

The twins looked skyward to the stars, conscious of other presences that were intangible yet oh-so ancient and powerful. The breeze suddenly died down and the night became wrapped in stillness.

Elladan spoke first. “Hearken to us, almighty Valar. Before thy thrones we present our plea. As is our right and duty, we lay our choice before thee.” 

Elrohir continued. “O Lords of the West, we claim our _Edhil_ heritage and the privilege to make our eternal abode in Elvenhome amongst our kin.”

“Manwë Sulimo, King of Arda, receive us.”

“Elbereth, Lady of the Stars, we ask for thy blessings.”

Elrond solemnly intoned: “I pass the mantle of stewardship over my sons’ fates to they with whom they wouldst be bound.”

Legolas looked sharply at the Lord of Rivendell, surprised at his words. They held true for Elladan but he could not help wondering how they could apply to Elrohir. But when Gandalf spoke, his pronouncement proved an even greater distraction.

“Elladan and Elrohir, sons of Elrond, seed of Lúthien, Idril and Eärendil, ye hast chosen to join thy fates to the Firstborn,” the Wizard said. “For as long as they to whom ye wouldst bind thyselves remain in Middle-earth ye shalt possess the life of the Eldar. But when they depart these shores, ye shalt depart with them to make thy homes in Valinor evermore. Dost ye pledge thyselves to this?”

“We do,” the twins said in unison. 

As they finished speaking, one star suddenly shone brightly, piercing the blackness of the night sky with unwonted brilliance.

"'Tis Grandfather,” Elladan whispered in awe.

Elrond smiled as he, too, looked skyward. “Aye. He is well pleased with your choice.” 

As if to emphasize his words, the sky was suddenly set ablaze as all the constellations and countless other stars seemed to shine their brightest. All over Gondor, the wonder of this night was noted and would be remembered long after the last of the Eldar departed Middle-earth’s shores. But only the Firstborn knew that this strange occurrence portended something momentous for one or some of their own. 

Looking out from their bedchamber, the King and Queen of Gondor joined hands and stared at the brilliant sky. Aragorn did not know of his foster brothers’ plans for that evening and so did not perceive the reason for the phenomenon he beheld. But at his side, Arwen trembled with mingled awe and sorrow for she understood the significance of this emphatic outpouring of light.

As the stars’ brightness slowly began to wane, the twins sensed the change in themselves. It was as if a part of them had been drained away only to be filled once more with something else. The elven fire at their core kindled to its fullest even as their mortal essence slipped away.

“It is done,” Gandalf pronounced, now beaming broadly. 

Elrond promptly dropped all pretence of dignity and restraint and drew both his sons into a tight, heartfelt embrace before they were swept into likewise loving hugs by Celeborn and Galadriel. Elrohir gasped as Legolas caught him to himself with almost backbreaking fervor. The prince’s joyful countenance was all that was needed to eliminate whatever doubts the younger twin may still have harbored.

After Legolas released him, Elrond came back to his side and murmured: “Take heart, my valiant Elf-knight. Your reward will come to you. And if I and all who know me as their lord must prostrate ourselves before the Powers in Aman on your behalf, by my father’s light, I swear it shall be done.”

Elrohir managed a smile. “That should be a sight to behold, _Ada_ ,” he replied with a trace of humor. “A pity Elladan and I will not be able to witness it.” 

Elladan chuckled and, throwing a comradely arm about Elrohir’s shoulders, pressed his forehead against his twin’s.

oOoOoOo

Arwen continued to stare at the fading brilliance of the stars, her face frozen. Her husband regarded her with curiosity. Only when the tears trickled down her cheeks did he realize that something grieved her.

“My love, what troubles you?” he exclaimed, taking her into his arms.

Arwen leaned her head on his shoulder, seeking comfort in his strength. “Elladan and Elrohir have made their choice,” she whispered.

Aragorn started. “Their choice?” He looked up at the skies once more. The stars were almost back to normal. “Then this display of light—”

“Was in acceptance and blessing of it.”

Aragorn fell silent for a while. He stroked his wife’s hair consolingly. “They have chosen to be of Elvenkind.”

“Aye.” She looked up at the King. “I rejoice for them for I have always felt their fates lay in Aman and not in Middle-earth. But I also grieve for I am now truly sundered from my family.”

Aragorn looked at her somberly. He drew a deep breath. “Do you then regret your decision?’

Arwen smiled through her tears. “Nay, that I would never do. My place is with you, Estel. As my brothers’ are with the Firstborn and those who hold their hearts.”

Her husband nodded in understanding. “They did it for _Adar_ and your mother who awaits you all in Elvenhome. Nimeithel as well had a role in this, I suppose.”

“And Legolas,” Arwen softly said.

“Legolas?” Aragorn responded in some surprise. “Think you he had much influence on their decision?”

“On Elrohir’s decision,” the Queen said. “He told me that Legolas was greatly distressed when he first learned of the choice of the Peredhil. He pleaded even then with my brother not to forsake their friendship. And knowing Legolas, he would have renewed his plea this very day. Elrohir has seldom found the wherewithal to deny Legolas anything. You know how much he cherishes him.”

Aragorn sighed, nodding. “Will they go with _Adar_ when he departs for the West?” 

Arwen shook her head. “They have been permitted to stay on for the duration of your reign, Estel.”

Aragorn smiled fondly. “I am glad to hear that, _meleth nîn_. Life would not be as interesting without the twins to enliven it.”

*********************************  
Glossary:  
gwanneth – younger twin  
Ada, Adar – Papa, Father  
gwador – sworn brother  
gwanunig nîn – my twin  
meleth nîn – my love

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

“Are you truly set on visiting Fangorn?” Elladan smilingly inquired.

Gimli grimaced and said: “I misguidedly gave my word and I will not have it said that a Dwarf does not know how to keep a promise!”

The others laughed at his less than pleased countenance. The others being Elrohir and Legolas, and Frodo and his ever faithful Sam.

“Come now, Gimli, I have promised to explore the Glittering Caves with you,” Legolas pointed out. “The least you can do is return the gesture with good grace.”

Gimli snorted at the idea. “So like an Elf,” he muttered.

They were gathered together on the green lawn of the Citadel, the velvety growth making for comfortable seating for the Elves and Hobbits at least. The Dwarf was another matter but he’d held his tongue and gingerly arranged his bluff self upon the springy grass. 

It was the last afternoon before the kings of Gondor and Rohan departed for the Riddermark bearing Théoden’s earthly remains to his last resting place in the Barrowfield outside of Edoras. A great company of the noblest of both realms would escort the valiant king on the fifteen-day trek to Rohan. All the Elves would be part of this company, as would four Hobbits and one Dwarf. 

Gimli had managed to persuade Legolas to agree to visit Aglarond with him upon the return to Rohan. The Dwarf had been so enthralled by the beauty of the caverns that he’d actually found the eloquence to convince the Elf-prince that they were worth more than a peek. 

Legolas had agreed somewhat reluctantly but, in return, he’d elicited a promise from Gimli to explore the fastness of Fangorn with him before they went home to their respective realms. Gimli had duly sworn to this but without much enthusiasm.

Since then, he’d proclaimed loudly and often that his mother had not raised him to be any prissy Elf’s bodyguard. To which Legolas would be heard to retort that his mother had not raised him to baby-sit recalcitrant Dwarves either! The twins had been hard-pressed to decide which course of action to take: to sit back and enjoy the verbal fray or interfere and prevent another war from erupting.

“And you, Ring-bearer?” Elrohir gently asked. “What are your plans?”

Frodo gestured in the general direction of where home lay. “I would dearly like to return to the Shire,” he said. “It seems like ages since I left Bag End. I’d thought I would never see it again.” He smiled at his companions. 

Sam said: “We’ll have a bit of a well-earned rest when we get home, Mr. Frodo. And I can hardly wait to see my old Gaffer again.”

“Not to mention Rosie Cotton,” Frodo added with a grin. Sam’s subsequent blush led to another round of guffaws. 

The twins eyed the star-shaped gem upon Frodo’s chest that hung from the fine silver chain around his neck. They knew full well why their sister had gifted the Halfling with it.

“Aye, it will indeed be a well-earned rest,” Elrohir said softly. 

He clasped the Hobbit on the shoulder comfortingly. The shoulder that bore the morgul-wound, Sam noticed.

“Well, it will be a while before _I_ get any rest,” Gimli harrumphed. “What with this dratted Elf wanting to explore haunted forests and the like. You would think he’d had his fill of adventure but, no, he has to go and look for more trouble!”

“Fangorn is not haunted!” Legolas protested.

“Any place that harbors talking trees has to be haunted!” Gimli retorted. 

“Ents are not trees!”

“They certainly fooled me!” 

“Are you backing out of our bargain?” the Elven prince challenged.

“Nay, I am only stating my opinion,” Gimli huffed.

“Fearful are we?” Legolas smirked.

“I fear nothing!” Gimli roared indignantly.

“Yet you nearly did not enter the Dark Door in the Dwimorberg as I recall,” Legolas goaded.

“Why you impertinent, pointy-eared, son of a—!”

“Peace, both of you!” Elladan laughed, hastening to placate the spluttering Dwarf. “We have just ended one war. Let us not start another!”

Between them, he and Elrohir managed to jestingly cajole Gimli back into good humor while Frodo and Sam looked on with some amazement. Finally, after a merry spell, the Dwarf decided he wanted ale and invited the others to go seek some with him. Elladan and the Hobbits agreed to accompany him to the nearest tavern but Elrohir and Legolas declined. They remained seated on the verdant carpet while the others sauntered away.

“You really should not tease Gimli,” Elrohir grinned. “The bite of a Dwarven axe is not anything to sneeze at.”

Legolas snickered. “He is as bad as I am,” he said. “I was merely giving him a taste of his own medicine.”

“Oh? And what, pray tell, did he say to you that you deem so wicked?”

Legolas opened his mouth to regale him with what transpired during their ride through Rohan. But then he realized that the object of that discussion had been Elrohir himself. He suddenly felt uncomfortable about bringing up the subject.

“Just some ridiculous notion of his,” he dismissed. 

Elrohir regarded him curiously for a while then shrugged and dropped the matter. He turned his attention to a group of courtiers walking towards the White Tower. A group of distressingly over-dressed courtiers who came as near to prancing as he’d ever had the misfortune to witness. 

“Poor Estel,” he said with amusement. “I wager he wishes he were but a mere Ranger once more rather than deal with those foppish sycophants. The way they preen themselves, you would think they’d personally defended Minas Tirith from our foes when in truth they most likely spent the war cowering under their beds.”

Legolas chuckled. “Aye, they think rather highly of themselves. Poor Estel, indeed. But no one ever said ‘twould be easy being king.” 

Elrohir smiled in agreement. After a moment, Legolas said, “Elrohir?”

“Hm?” 

“About your choice?” 

Elrohir’s shoulders seemed to stiffen. He turned his attention back to the archer.

“What of it?” he lightly asked. But his suddenly guarded eyes belied the casualness of his tone.

The prince frowned at his changed demeanor. “Lord Elrond and Mithrandir said some rather odd things that night,” he commented. “I did not quite understand what they meant.”

Was it his imagination or had Elrohir suddenly tensed? 

“What did you not understand, _ernilen_?”—my prince.

“They alluded to the need for you and Elladan to – to bind yourselves should you desire to remain in Middle-earth,” Legolas said. “That makes sense where Elladan is concerned, but you...” He looked at the Elf-knight uncertainly. “Have you—? While I was away, did you... find someone?” 

“Someone?”

“To bind yourself to,” Legolas said. There was just the faintest hint of a shadow in his otherwise bright blue eyes.

“And if I did?” the warrior rejoined after a noticeable pause. 

The archer said haltingly: “I cannot dictate what you may or may not do. But I cannot help worrying that if there is someone waiting for you in Imladris... that our friendship will... fail.” He sighed. “Already I feel the lessening of the bond between you and Elladan now that he is promised to my sister. Yet you are twins. What more of your regard for me? I fear it will diminish... should you take a spouse.” 

The Elf-knight was silent for the longest while. “It is not diminished,” he said at last. “And it never will be.” He looked away into the distance. “And I am not joined to... another. Nor do I plan to be any time soon.”

Legolas gazed at him in puzzlement. “But they said... they said you must bind yourself to remain here... and still be of Elf-kind.”

“A pledge was all that was needed,” Elrohir replied. “I made it.”

“And is there no limit to the time you have to find someone?” Legolas queried anxiously.

Elrohir took his hand and squeezed it. “I have more than enough time, Calenlass. Do not worry yourself over this.”

Legolas studied him doubtfully. “I hope so,” he finally said. 

Elrohir regarded him gravely in turn.

“And you, Legolas?” he quietly inquired. “Should you give your heart away, will your regard for me lessen?”

The archer stared at him in surprise. “I told you, my heart is mine to keep,” he pointed out. “I do not care to unlock it.” 

“But should you…?”

Legolas shook his head fiercely. “That will not happen, _gwador_. For this I promise you: if the impossible should come to pass and my betrothed demanded that of me, I would sooner break my troth than abandon our friendship.”

Another silence fell between them. Legolas wondered at his friend’s mood.

At length, Elrohir lifted a hand and tucked an errant lock of silver gold behind the prince’s ear. And then he smiled and it was of such tenderness and affection that it just about took Legolas’ breath away.

“That comforts me,” Elrohir softly said. Before Legolas could say more, he rose to his feet, pulling the archer along with him. “Come, let us join the others. Let us toast this last day in Minas Tirith with good company, wine and song.” 

Legolas snorted dubiously. “With song? That might be possible with Hobbits, but a Dwarf?”

Elrohir laughed. “And as Elladan said, let us not start another war!” 

*********************************  
Glossary:  
gwador –sworn brother

_End of Part XVIII._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Part XIX: Consequences – We can lie to others but we cannot truly lie to ourselves. A binding without precedent brings about some unexpected consequences._


End file.
